The Opposite of Love
by AbbieNormal182
Summary: John & Sherlock have a conversation about what love really is. John might be more persuasive than he thinks.


I've been listening to _Stubborn Love_ by The Lumineers lately, and one line always makes me think of BBC Sherlock. "The opposite of love's indifference." Thought I'd write a bit of a fic. :) Hope you enjoy it!

-NN-

It was just a ordinary day, and all at once became a somewhat singular day.

Sherlock has been badgering John for hours. Tea. Phone. Turn on the telly. Turn off the telly. Shut up and let him think. The detective supposed one would get tired, bored, sick of being harassed at some point, but John seems to become even more patient with him as the hours drag on. Underneath a false layer of grumbling irritation, that is.

The telly is blaring, some crap daytime show involving cheating lovers, overwrought mothers and appallingly scripted speeches of love and devotion. Sherlock scoffs out loud, and John chuckles from behind his newspaper, glancing out from behind it. "What's the problem?" The doctor asks, a bit of a grin on his face. He already knows. Sherlock won't dignify him with a response.

"Love," Sherlock huffs finally, when it becomes clear that John is perfectly content to wait him out. "Such sentimental nonsense."

John folds his paper in half and lays it on the table beside him, an intent look suddenly appearing on his face. "Do you really think so?" Sherlock shoots him a derisive look and John shakes his head. "No seriously. Do you honestly think that love is complete nonsense?"

Sherlock ignores him, his gaze fixed on the telly where a woman is having a bit of a strop about someone spilling wine on her dress. John often asks stupid questions, but rarely are they this idiotic.

For a moment, John seems as if he might drop it, but his shoulders stiffen slightly, indicating to the detective he's decided not to. "Okay, you don't want to answer that question. Why don't we try another?" He pauses for a moment, clearly casting around for the correct words. "Why is love nonsense?"

Sherlock sighs, intentionally loudly, but gives in. "You should know this, John. It's useless, pointless. People love each other and it doesn't get them anywhere, does it? They think they're happy for a little while, but that's just brain chemistry. If anything, the emotional strain when their "love" inevitably self destructs is too traumatic for most people." He inhales sharply to finish the thought and finally glances over at John. "It's not sensible."

John nods thoughtfully, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He clasps his hands in front of him before responding. "Okay, fair enough. I see where you're coming from. Let me ask you another?"

Sherlock would never admit it to anyone, but as much he hates having anyone tell him what he should be thinking, he actually enjoys it when John attempts to change his mind this way. It's almost as if the doctor is trying to manipulate him, albeit very bluntly. He asks questions, wants to hear Sherlock's answers, seemingly in the hope that Sherlock will come to the conclusion the doctor wants all by himself. It never works, but it always amuses him. He gives a noncommittal grunt at John's question and looks back at the telly. Seems as if the woman having the strop is still on about it. Boring.

Again, John chooses his words carefully before laying them out as a question. "What do you think the opposite of love is?"

Sherlock snorts out loud and stretches his long legs out in front of him. "Hate." He throws over to John.

The doctor immediately shakes his head. "No," he says, and Sherlock looks over at him sharply.

"No?" Sherlock asks, but it's not really a question, more of a challenge. "Why not?"

John laughs, the creases around his eyes crinkling. "Well it might've been right if you'd been a primary school student. Love versus hate? No. That's not it at all, and especially not for you."

"What the hell does that mean?" Sherlock says, starting to feel a bit stroppy himself. He pulls his knees up to his chest, and tucks his feet neatly against his body in an effort to contain himself within the island of his chair.

John catches the detective's mood and sighed, slumping back in his chair again. "It means you're wrong." Sherlock's eyes flash, but the doctor interrupts him before he can say anything scathing. "Just let me explain," There is silence for a moment. "It means that the opposite of love isn't hate. It's indifference. I think that's especially true for you."

Sherlock's irritation fades into something softer, something more like confusion. "I- I don't understand." He finally admits, and John's slants crookedly in a way that Sherlock has come to recognize as fondness.

"Sherlock," John begins, shifting in his chair. "Do you hate Sergeant Donovan? How about Anderson? When you think of them, or see them, or hear them speak, do you feel furious all of a sudden, so angry you can barely speak?"

Sherlock considers for a moment. "I suppose not."

The doctor nods, clearly assuming this would be his answer. "That's hate. Now, I won't ask you any questions about love, because I'm sure you'd run off waving your 'I'm a sociopath' flag and try not to answer me, but I do want you to think about how you feel about Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock opens his mouth to protest the jibe against his psychologist certified diagnosis, but John bulls right over him. "You feel a certain amount of fondness. You want to protect her. You don't mind when she fusses over you, and you give her hugs, physical affection without it being forced from you."

The detective's head jerks forward in a reluctant nod.

"That's love. Maybe for other people it's a bit sharper, a bit more... I don't know... noticeable as love. But that's it." There's another long silence as John stares into space. Sherlock's can't seem to pull his eyes away from the other man, waiting for some other insight. The doctor seems extraordinarily keen this evening. It's curiosity, Sherlock tells himself, that has him waiting for John's next words. "How about the way you feel about, oh who? Let's say... Dimmock? Or Angelo? You know them, you don't hate them, you don't love them. They simply exist in the world. That's indifference."

John shifts his weight and pulls himself from his armchair with a groan, but Sherlock stays seated. "I see." The detective murmurs. "Why would you say that indifference is the opposite of love, though? Love seems... It seems happy. Hate is angry, indifference is nothing at all."

John smiles. "Indifference means you feel nothing, yes, that's right. Love is nothing at all like that." The doctor yawns. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm off to bed."

Sherlock ponders John's words, and continues to ponder them well into the night. Weeks later, he abandons John at yet another crime scene and Donovan reads him the riot act.

"It's like he's not even a person to you, isn't that right?" She spits at him in her usual tone of voice. "It's like you don't even notice he exists."

He stares at her through half closed eyes and waits until she is glaring at him defensively before choosing his words very carefully before he sweeps out of the room. He knows exactly what it's going to mean, and he says it because he's come to realize that it's true. He blinks once, feels his lashes brush his cheek, then turns his gaze on John Watson.

"I will never be indifferent to John."


End file.
